


Forgiveness for My Sins

by PEM_Name



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Hannibal - Freeform, Romance, Sins, Story, X - Freeform, and, for, my, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PEM_Name/pseuds/PEM_Name
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If we are truly created in Gods image, doesn't that include his blood-lust? His wrath? His Tyranny? If this is true, do we not also deserve forgivness for our sins?</p><p>"People are killed every day right? Just left on the street or thrown in a river. If one is going to kill, then one might as well make some use of the body, instead of just leaving it to rot." Hannibal can see in her eyes that everything she says she believes, and it's really her opinion, but he still can't believe what he is hearing. "Humans are animals, our flesh and bone is just as edible as that of a cow or pig or sheep. We are at the top on the food chain, but we're still a part of it so are we not, by definition, food too?" He would suspect that this was a trick; a ruse to catch him off-guard and to confess who he is and what he's done. He would, were it not for the look in her eye; one of belief, truthfulness and fidelity. Letting him know that she is like him, without her being aware of it.</p><p>I own none of the characters or plots found in 'Hannibal', but I do hold all rights to everything else. I have come up with new plots, but events from the existing episodes will also feature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness for My Sins

Bourguignon

It was a pleasant enough day; not sunny, but not cold either and the rain had appeared to direct itself over Baltimore. Hannibal found himself actually enjoying the sound of nothing but the wind, birds and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his chair. William has a quaint farmhouse in Wolf Trap; a fitting name considering his number of Canine companions. Hannibal could see the appeal; no one around and complete silence and solitude. Perfect by his standards. Though the house could use some work, he'd start on the porch for one. Just a bit of paint would do; a nice 'Duck egg' blue or 'Corn silk' white. Perhaps, however, this suits Will and is in fact a match on his personality; Pleasant, though rough around the edges, and functions well enough but leaves you with the feeling it could collapse at any second.

"You don't trust my judgement anymore?" brought Hannibal back to the conversation. Crawford had tediously invited him along to speak with William; predictably as a balm for the animosity young Will would undoubtedly experience. "Will, it's not that I don't trust your judgement," Crawford explains "but when an expert is in the area it is wise to seek the opinion of an outside party. You can never have too many points of view."

"I can," Will murmurs through gritted teeth, hands pocketed and staring into the wilderness. "Will," Hannibal stands from his chair and places a hand on Will's shoulder, "Agent Crawford may be right. Dr. (Surname) may have a valid opinion and could offer some help." Will turns to face him head on, eyes still flaming with anger but his willingness to listen evident. "Everybody needs a bit of help sometimes, even those with a gift such as yours." Will's fire slowly dies down at Hannibal's words and his defiance retreats a little; all apparent in a sigh. Will turns back to the front of his porch and, with a steadying breath, walks down the steps and towards Crawford's car. Hannibal follows after Crawford and gets in the passenger seat as Will stands outside, clutching the door handle. "Gift? Gifts you can return." He breathes before getting in.

"There is a car outside, so someone must be in," says Crawford as he rings the doorbell again. They were standing outside a courtly, Victorian-style house just on the outskirts of Quantico. Hannibal stands, hands clasped comfortably behind his back, looking around the impressive exterior and the beautiful forestry surrounding. Eventually his eyes fall on that of said car; a playboy-red Ferrari. A small smirk crosses Hannibal's face at the display; an easy insight to the personality and insecurities of its owner. As the chimes from the doorbell ring out once more, the voice of a man can be heard inside. The door opens. "Hello? May I help you Gentlemen?" 

A young man with an English accent answers; Professional by his grooming, sloppy by his attire and insufficient nutrition and sleep deprivation evident in his skin and eyes. "Special Agent Crawford, FBI. Is this the residence of Dr. (Surname)?" The boy at the door is startled, and then smiles warmly to the gentlemen, "Yes it is. Please, do come in." He opens the door further and extends a hand into the hallway, inviting the three of them in. "I was just brewing myself some tea," The man says as he leads his guests through dark mahogany hallways and under expertly-restored beams. A door opens just ahead and they are herded into a large room with elegant decor and early Renaissance furnishings. The man motions for Crawford and his companions to sit as he continues, "May I offer you gentlemen a cup?"

"I would like some tea please." Crawford is the first to answer as he sits himself beside Will on the 2 seater couch. "Just some water thank you." Will's lukewarm words come next, his usual antisocial disposition pronounced in his lack of eye contact. Lecter smiles and tenders a polite "Thank you" before the young man leaves, closing the door behind him. Silence falls on the room. Hannibal walks around, admiring the fine trappings and accessories, until his attention is caught. "What are we here to ask?" Will asks Crawford, tone cool and calm but agitation shown in the tapping of his fingers. "Simply to see if there is anything we are missing; if we are too close to the case or focussing too much on..."

"One aspect of the big picture, yes I understand now, thank you." Will waves a hand to illustrate his comprehension and rises to pace the length of the intricate rug. "So, what? This person can tell us information just from looking at a Photograph of a crime-scene? Jack..." Will turns to confront his colleague directly, "I can tell you every detail of a crime-scene, so what makes you think Dr. (Surname) can give us any information we don't already know? Also, I have to be in the scene to give you the information I do, so I don't believe they will be able to see anything more than horrific images." 

Lecter returns to his companions from a neighbouring room and joins the fray; "Will, even if this Dr. (Surname) doesn't divulge any new information and only confirms our suspicions, we will have another expert opinion to back up our findings." Hannibal reassures Will as he takes the armchair to his left. Will turns to the wall, with a pensive expression, and begins studying the contents of a book cabinet. Silence falls on the room once more. Then the door creaks open and the boy enters, carrying an elaborate tea-set atop a silver tray. "Sorry for the wait Gentlemen, had to hunt down the larger tea-pot." He sets down the tray on the coffee-table with an amiable smile, "And please do forgive me, I appear to have forgotten my manners..." The young man deplores, kneeling on the floor, "I am Alexander (Surname), but you gentlemen may call me Alex. Your water Mr.?"

"Graham, Will Graham, thank you." Will takes the water with a nod. Master Alex smiles politely before returning to the tea-set, "And how do you take your tea Agent Crawford?" The boy had changed his dress; a clean and pressed house-shirt replaced the off-white T-Shirt from before and black trousers instead of grey slacks. Feet still bare however. "Black, 2 sugars please." Alex nods in understanding and takes the miniature prongs from the sugar bowl handle. Hannibal watches his movements; how the boy's elbow is on the table and how he plops the cubes of sugar into the brimming cup. All signs that he, despite his polite manners and good diction, isn't used to this formal an introduction or decorous behaviour. In addition, his change in clothes are a sign that someone has taught him, and quite recently, the manners and courtesy that he now practices; as he was content to answer the door in the condition he was in, but change first chance after learning Crawford's occupation. "And how do you take your tea Agent?"

"Dr. Lecter, and cream, no sugar please." Hannibal replies affably and young Alex nods, before adding milk and pouring the tea. Failing to ask how strong he wanted the tea, he apologises for the unavailability of cream, and to pour the tea before the milk. All are trivial and almost undetectable to most people, but to Hannibal these indications shout like a French-horn in the ear and show this man for what he is; a child. The boy holds out the cup with a smile, which Lecter mimics as he takes the tea "Thank you very much Alex."

"You're welcome." Alex's smile widens, displaying his ignorance of his actions and Lecter's forced courtesy. Alex pours his own tea then retires to the window seat. He was barely seated before, "We are sorry for taking up your time, but may we get to the point of why we are here?" Will questions, cutting to the quick as usual. "Certainly, what can I do for you?" Alex sets down his tea and crosses his legs. At this Will produces a folder from Agent Crawford's briefcase, then walks over to Alex and hands it over, accompanying him by the window. Hannibal leans forward slightly in his chair, awaiting the reaction of the boy; he watches as Alex opens the folder and his face grows a little pale, taking a gulp of breath, steadying himself as to not regurgitate his tea. Just as Hannibal expected. Alex closes the document forcibly and thrusts it back to Will, who is shocked by this reaction. Hannibal walks over calmly and retrieves the file, "I'm sorry, I believe these are meant for Dr. (Surname)."

"Sorry, I thought you were..." Will starts as he stands from his seat, looking away in embarrassed frustration. "N-no, I'm not. Dr. (Surname) is..." at that moment, a car is seen coming into the driveway. "...returning from a meeting with her publisher." The three guests all move to look out of the window at the car pulling up outside. As the car comes to a halt, Hannibal registers that it's a Rolls Royce Phantom; a classy and high-end car, but perhaps a sign that Dr. (Surname) has something to prove. However, "Her publisher?" Hannibal asks dryly. "Yes; my sister is with whom you should consult." At that moment, the driver door opens and a figure steps out, face cloaked by her hair. The front door opening can be heard from their location, followed by a set of heeled footsteps and "Alex? Alex I'm home!"

"In here (Name)!" The boy replies, and the tapping footsteps begin again as she makes her way to their position. The door opens to reveal a well-dressed woman; hands shaking through her hair, freeing it from some of the hairspray. "Sorry I'm late," She tilts her head back, allowing her hair to settle around her face, "Traffic was a nightmare, Oh!" She exclaims when she has focused on the room and realised that Alex is not alone. "I thought I saw a new car outside," The young woman steps further into the room, smiling elegantly at the gentlemen. "I am sorry, I didn't realise Alex had company. My name is (First and Surname), pleased to meet you all." She extends a hand to the nearest guest first, "Agent Jack Crawford, nice to meet you." Crawford nods with a slight smile, "And you Agent Crawford." Will is next, "Will Graham." An affirming nod accompanies her smile as she shakes his hand. As she extends her hand to him with a smile, Hannibal follows suit and introduces himself, "Dr. Hannibal Lecter, it's a pleasure Dr. (Surname)."

"The pleasure is all mine Dr. Lecter," She shakes his hand, the softness of her skin counterbalancing the firmness of grip, "But please, call me (Name), there is no need for such formalities." She adds, turning to the face the rest of the room. "Ah, I see Alex has already brought you all something to drink. So I may take my leave, excuse me." (Name) offers one more smile before turning to leave. "Actually Dr. (Surname)," Crawford stops Miss (Name), "It's you who we wish to speak to." Crawford steps forward and offers the file of photos, which (Name) takes and looks through.

"Oh, I see." She looks through the images with a nonchalant expression before tucking the folder under her arm, "Would you gentleman care to join me in the kitchen?" She asks buoyantly, "Then I may examine these under a better light whilst I prepare myself a drink?" Her speech and manners are impeccable, shining a light on her education and stature, but her tone and body language; so cheerful and welcoming, a combination estranged to Hannibal. Lecter expresses a light smile and a composed disposition, his mind all the while secretly trying to find her angle; the uplifted corner to pull back her screen and see the clockwork. "Certainly." Crawford replies before the gentlemen collect their possessions and refreshments and follow Miss (Surname) into the kitchen.

"So what brings you here (Name)?" Crawford asks as they leave the room. They are lead towards the back of the house. "Well, a few years ago, I was visiting a friend who lives here and ended up renting this house; just for a couple of months while writing the last chapters of a book." Past the grand staircase and a number of rooms "And I found it so peaceful and quiet here that I bought the house and use it as my 'getaway' when I need to focus on my work." Before coming to a set of oak double-doors with frosted glass. "I know it's only a holiday home really, but there were a couple of things that I had to improve." (Name) adds as she opens the doors into the kitchen, "But now I'm very happy with it." Original red oak cabinets with new marble worktops, a stone Aga in the corner, a large square island fitted with stainless-steel sink; all the latest implements camouflaging into their surroundings effortlessly. 

Hannibal is captivated by the detail of the room and the high-level of appliance dominating within. "What a beautiful kitchen, my wife would love this." Crawford remarks stepping into the majestic room. "Aw thank you Agent Crawford," (Name) says cheerfully walking towards one of the chairs at the island. Perplexed by her idea of 'Improvements', Hannibal turns his gaze back to Miss (Surname). She has a small bounce in her step which accompanies her light-hearted tone of voice, but her strides are long and firm. She is a strong and confident person and takes her work seriously, but is genuinely interested in people and is quite a happy person herself. "Yeah, I love to cook you see. It's a passionate hobby of mine, so I designed it so I could make as many dishes as possible." She takes off her jacket and drapes it over the back of a stool before turning and walking behind the Island and towards the fridge. "Would any of you gentlemen care for another drink?" (Name) extends a slender hand out onto a counter and presses a finger onto the marble, the silk of her blouse tightening around her forearm. At this moment a tall, silver object appears out of the marble, "A cold beverage perhaps?" (Name) opens the sterling casket to reveal a wine chassis. Very impressive. Both Crawford and Will politely decline the offer with "I'm on duty" and "I'm OK with water". However, enraptured by the sophisticated 'toy', "I would love a Bardolino if you have one, Miss (Surname)."

"Certainly Dr. Lecter," She smiles at him before turning the bottles in their case. She pulls out a bottle, "Would a 1964 Pastrengo be to your taste or something sweeter?" She holds the wine up to Lecter so that he may examine the label; delicate fingers wrapping round the bottom and resting the top against her palm. "Impeccable taste Miss (Surname), thank you." At his acceptance, (Name) turns to the cupboard to her left and retrieves a wine glass, before placing it against the fridge and a handful of cubes fall from the ice dispenser. Hannibal watches her actions then his eyes begin to wander over her body; her curves are accentuated beautifully by the tight fit of her trousers around her waist and behind. The sharp sound of her closing the fridge door brings Hannibal back to his senses and the task at hand. "Your wine Dr. Lecter" (Name) says warmly reaching out to him, glass in hand. "Thank you." Their fingers brush as he takes the glass; the warmth and softness of her fingers a welcome disparity to the cold, cut crystal. "Are you not drinking Miss (Surname)?" Agent Crawford asks, highlighting the glass of apple juice in her hand. "Not if I'm working. In my profession I prefer to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs."

"Though most people seek you out to help, not to blame it on you." Hannibal says as he swirls the red liquid around in his glass. She looks at him and he catches her eyes with his; lingering a while in the gaze, an amused silence befalling them both. "Sorry to butt in on your 'pleasantries' Dr." Will steps forward, "But can you please look at these photos?" He picks up the file from the counter and motions to Miss (Surname). "Oh Yes, of course." She retrieves the file from Will and walks back to the Island, turning on the overhead lighting and laying the photos out in front of her. "What is it exactly you wish to know agent Crawford?" (Name) examines the photos briefly before looking at Crawford; hands clasping the edge of the work service, face soft and kind, eyes serious. "Just your professional opinion; if you can see anything about the killer that we may be missing."

"My professional opinion?" She asks to herself under her breath, returning her gaze to the photos before her. "These two aren't by the same person." She starts abruptly, pointing at the bottom left photo and one near the end of the island. "What makes you say that?" Crawford asks, moving to her side. "The signature is completely different," She explains, "You see, these three here are clean, precise and..." she pauses, staring at one photo in particular. "Yes?" questions Crawford. "Artistic." (Name) moves the photo closer to the light, a small smile and a look of, dare it be, adoration in her eyes. "Artistic? What do you mean? He's using his victims to paint a picture?" Crawford sounds horrified. "Yes, in a way..." She gathers some photos and lays them side by side on the counter, "You see these here, the way they have been laid out, presented, show great showmanship. He is someone who has a taste for the finer things in life." She's good. "So he has displayed them, taken time to mould them into the scenes we see, like clay to a potter."

"Are you suggesting he knows these people? That's why he's taking such time and dedication to turn them into these 'Artworks'?" Crawford questions, obviously intrigued by her input. "On the contrary; He knows these people, that much is obvious, but not out of attachment, love or affection. No, it's the exact opposite..." (Name) picks up another photograph, "The way he's displaying them, it's artistic by just how clean-cut and precise it is and the 'wow factor' it portrays, but..." She lays them back into their formation, "The materials he's used and the positions in which he displays them..." She looks up at Crawford, "Shows that he believes them to be awful, contemptible. He's ridiculing them by parading their corpses so openly." She's very good "But that doesn't fit with the cannibal idea," Will interjects, "Cannibalism normally signifies some deep meaning and respect for the one they are eating; yes it does appear that he finds them to be pigs, but the normal profile of a cannibal is that the victim is kept with them forever."

"This is certainly true Mr Graham, but we can see by his 'Gallery' of victims that he is not the normal Cannibal. The cannibalism, if anything, is nothing but a fortunate bi-product of his killing these people." She turns to Will directly and continues, "He likes to eat people, but he is not hunting for people to eat, he is eating the people he has already decided to kill. However, these are not the questions you need to be asking." She returns to the photos and begins to examine them once again; though, it appears more out of her own fascination than willingness to help. "What questions should we be asking Dr?" Crawford questions. "Why does he lament these people so? What have they done for him to decide that they need to be punished? How did the Cannibalism start?" She puts the photos back in the folder. "Though the last question may prove to be the most useful." She adds as she hands the file back to Crawford. "Why is that?" asks Will, stepping forward. "Have you ever eaten the flesh of another Mr. Graham?" she asks in an indifferent tone, eyes focused on her drink as she takes a sip. "Of course not." 

"Well then; it’s not an everyday thing to consume the corpse of another Mr. Graham." She looks at him, then turns to the rest of the company. "If it were I who were trying to capture a man with such... Eclectic tastes, I would look to why he has such tastes in the first place." She walks round the men to a dishwasher, forcing them to turn to her direction; all except Hannibal, who stays his position, ears poised to capture every word she says. "For example, some hideous circumstance had befallen him in which he was forced to eat someone. Thus doing damage to the shock, pain and processing faculties in their temporal lobe." She places the glass in the dishwasher, tone cool and dry to the untrained ear. "The man you're looking for is not mad or insane, he is a fully functioning human being who has, in all likelihood, eaten another human against his will and developed a taste for it." But Hannibal senses the excitement and urging in her voice. "As for the people he kills, well, by the evidence you have shown me, they all have something in common, with each other and with the one that 'made him'." She looks to the men, all consumed in stunned silence, the passion and trepidation in her eyes glinting. "It is subtle and sub conscious revenge he is seeking, for what he was made to do; or, more poetic yet, who he was made to do it too."

She's too good.

Silence falls on the room, all men awash with their own thoughts at her words; one planning a search into all cases of tragic death or sudden disappearances, another reeling that (Name) can see so much from just a few photographs. The Last, however, is sensing a more delectable outcome for good Dr. (Surname). "Is that the kind of information you had in mind Agent Crawford, was that the Professional Opinion you wanted?" (Name) asks, breaking the silence and pulling attention back to the present. "Y-yes, Thank you Dr." Crawford shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. "Good, now..." (Name) exclaims, clapping her hands as she turns on her heel and returns to the fridge, "No more talk of the dead. I am making Beef Bourguignon for dinner tonight, once I find the Burgundy. Would you gentlemen care to join Alex and I?" With that, her serious, business tone is gone; disappeared into the wind as though it was never there. Intelligent design completely replaced by a sunny disposition. Curious woman. "No, I'm sorry but I must get back to my wife. The invitation is appreciated, and it sounds delicious, but I can't. I'm sorry."

"Of course, another time perhaps" a candid smile parades across her face. "I already have plans, but thank you." Will says with a weak smile, not meeting her gaze. "No worries at all. What about you Dr?" She turns to Hannibal with a pleasant tone, "Care to stay for dinner?" A knowing brain behind such a sweet smile; such a shame that she may have to 'be gotten rid of', he would have loved more time to study her. "No thank you, I have work to be getting on with, but I thank you for such a gracious offer," he replies politely; his smile, to his surprise, not completely forced. "What a shame. Very well, some other time then gentlemen. Let me show you to the door." 

And with that Miss (Surname) accompanies them to the door and they say their final goodbyes. Crawford, thanking her again, gets into the car and drives away. Throughout the journey back to Will's home then his own, Hannibal joined in with the conversations and ideas of the other two; however, his mind was entirely focussed on that woman. Her insights. Her mannerisms. Her explanations. Her truths. All the while, knowing that her insights and impressive knowledge could be damaging to him and is threatening. He’s thinking what a shame it would to kill someone like her; with such poise, good manners, sweetness, happiness and intellect. 'Perhaps, I'll pay her a visit.' He thinks to himself as Crawford drones on next to him, 'Assess whether killing her is completely necessary.' 

Once he’s waved his goodbye to Jack Crawford, Hannibal heads into his home with the goal of changing for dinner. He arrives back at Miss (Surname)'s house at 7:15 exactly, perfect timing for dinner, and rings the doorbell accompanied with a light knock. Her heels can be heard from inside and she opens the door, "Oh, Hello again Dr. Lecter. To what do I owe this pleasure so soon?" She had also changed for dinner; A high impact, two tone white dress with floral black lace placement and peplum waist. The short sleeves balancing out the elegant 'just-below-the-knee' length, highlighting her toned legs. "I do hope I'm not intruding," Hannibal says calmly, "but the offer of that Bourguignon sounded too good to turn down. May I?" He motions at the door, to which she says "Yes, yes, of course, do come in." and opens the door wider to him. "May I take your jacket?" She offers, closing the door, "Yes, thank you." He turns to take off his coat, but she had already placed her hands on his shoulders and began sliding it off his arms. 

The sudden contact made a small breath hitch in his throat, to his confusion. "This is for you." As she hangs up his coat, he presents her with a bottle from his wine collection. "I thought it improper to come empty handed." "Oh, you really shouldn't have, thank you Dr. Lecter" She beams genuinely as she looks over the label. "Please, call me Hannibal. No formalities needed for dinner." She looks at him with smiling eyes and nods. "My thoughts exactly Hannibal. Shall we?" Hugging the bottle to her body she starts to walk towards the kitchen. The sound of her heels vibrate throughout the large hallways, the lighting illuminating the detail of the grand staircase, easily missed by daylight alone. "I'm sorry," she begins as they enter the kitchen, "I'm afraid we will be dining alone tonight." (Name) sets the bottle on a counter, pulls out a draw and takes a wine opener. "Alex is out with his latest conquest, which he forgot to tell me before I made dinner." Her tone is exasperated but with a hint of humour, an obvious sign of her affection towards her brother. "That's fine." He says coolly, watching her movements as she gathers their glasses; each gesture as elegant as the last. "This way please Hannibal." She hands him a glass of Red Wine and directs him to the dining room; A distinguished room with light decor of cream and gold, and dark wood furnishings. Two placemats complete with cutlery already resided on the table; one at the head of the table and the other to the chair next to it. (Name) places her wine on the coaster situated in front of the side chair. "Please, wouldn't you prefer to be at the head Miss (Surname)? We are in your house."

"Nonsense," She exclaims happily "I don't mind what seat I sit in, and you are my guest, so I insist." She extends him a warm smile, which he reciprocates as he takes his seat and she disappears back into the Kitchen. But, just as soon as she leaves, she returns with "And please, call me (Name)", before departing once more to fetch the food. When returning with their meals, (Name) served to the left in the proper manner, and seated herself next to him. Hannibal waited as she placed her napkin across her lap and picked up her cutlery in the correct fashion. "Bon appétit" Hannibal comments as he picks up his cutlery. "Merci beaucoup, et vous" She replies with a near perfect accent. "So you speak French?" Asks Hannibal, impressed. "Yes. I began learning it a few years ago, when my books started being published in French," she says, bringing a piece of the tender, pink meat to her lips. "I presume it's easier to communicate with publishers and exhibitionists that way." Pretence absent from his voice, just pure interest. Completely unprecedented for him. "Well yes, it does help with those things too. But I thought it would be good to be able to communicate with my fans. That was the main reason." And an unexpected reason, with such honesty. "This is delectable (Name)," Hannibal comments after a small time eating. "The cubetti pancetta is exquisite, especially combined with the caramelised shallots, pure perfection."

"Wow," she looks at him, a shining smile on her face, "Your pallet is amazing, I am thoroughly impressed." Her honesty and sheer happiness takes him aback, as if brushed by a gust of fresh air. "Thank you (Name)." He says, with his own take on a genuine smile. "I sense you are a keen cook too; seeing as you knew I had caramelised them." She says, intrigued. "I'm very particular about what I put into my body, so I end up preparing most meals myself." A version of the truth. "But you must enjoy it too? To know techniques such as caramelisation just by mere sampling." She wipes some sauce from her ruby lips, "Or you would not trifle with such experimentation when it is only the ingredients you are particular about."

"You are very perceptive Miss (Surname). Yes, I do enjoy cooking; I enjoy seeing what creations I can make with such raw and unpolished materials," he says honestly. Maybe a little too honestly, in light of her performance earlier in the day. "Really?" She asks enthusiastically, throwing her grasp of his confession into some doubt. "I'm more of a baker myself. Don't get me wrong; I love to cook, but I have a passion for breads and pastries." (Name) places her knife and fork on her empty plate and, seeing that Lecter had done the same, adds "Speaking of which, would you care for some dessert?" She stands, collecting their plates. "I've made Millefeuille, if you’d care to try some."

"I would love to, thank you." He smiles at her before she leaves for the kitchen. His gaze stays with the door awhile after she leaves, busy with his own thoughts; 'Does she suspect? Her honesty gives no signs that she suspects. But she is a clever woman. My remark about my love of cooking must resonate somewhere within her. Maybe she does suspect, but she's acting as if she doesn't. I just can't read her.' He looks back to her seat. 'I am delighting in her company, so it would be a shame if I had to kill her...' His thoughts are interrupted by the opening of a door and "Here we are." as (Name) re-enters. "Ooh," she pauses, placing the desserts on the table, "You're not allergic to nuts at all are you?" She asks, face apologetic for not asking earlier. "No, no I'm not." He chortles, letting her know 'it's quite alright'. "Good" she smiles, proceeding to give him his Millefeuille. "This looks divine; the strawberries really are a nice decoration."

"Thank you," She seats herself back next to him, "I found this delightful recipe for strawberry and pistachio Millefeuille, and I just had to try it out. Be warned though," she adds in a joking tone, "This is the first time I've made it, so don't expect too much from it." With that and a light chuckle, she takes her spoon and tries a bit herself. Hannibal looks at her with an amused smile then follows her lead; dipping his spoon through the fluffy cream and crumbling pastry, and placing it in his mouth. "It's lovely (Name)," he remarks sincerely, going in for another spoonful. "Really? Thank you. I think it could have done with a little more strawberry; the pistachio comes through a little strong." He looks at her this time, with a reassuring smile. "It's perfect the way it is." He places a hand on her shoulder, enforcing his opinion of her efforts. She smiles back up at him, thanking him for his kind words, and they both return to their food. After a moment of silence, Hannibal starts the conversation again. "Does the Ferrari belong to your brother?" (Name) looks up at him before replying "Yes,it was the first thing he bought when he got his first Million. Boys will be boys, I suppose." She chuckles coldly. "You don't agree with his choice?"

"It's not that. If it's what he wants, then of course I agree with his choice." She places her spoon onto the empty plate. "I just find Ferraris to be a child's car; they're bought as a toy, a sign of one-upmanship. An extension of one’s personality or anatomy, to hide insecurities." His thoughts exactly. "You prefer something with more class?" he asks, referring to the Rolls Royce. "The Phantom? Yes, I suppose." She collects both their plates as she stands. "To tell you the truth Hannibal, I really only bought it for the room in the back. Would you care for a coffee?" She asks, off topic. "I would offer you more wine, but I know you have to drive home."

"Coffee would be lovely, thank you," he says, standing from his chair. "May I accompany you into the kitchen?" He asks, opening the door for her. "Yes of course, thank you." She smiles at him from over her shoulder as she walks into the kitchen and over to the dishwasher. Hannibal watches as she moves from cupboard to drawer, collecting a mug, a teapot with cup and spoons, before taking the kettle and refilling it. "I'm sorry," she begins, "I would make you one using the Cafetière, but it's in the wash and the Barista needs to be fixed. Is instant coffee ok?" She says apologetically through a weak smile. "That is fine, thank you." She turns and continues with her action. Hannibal moves nearer and rests against the counter next to the one she's working from. "What did you mean by more room?" He asks, as she moves to the fridge, "More room for what? Do you take milk or cream?" So they do have cream, Hannibal thinks to himself. "Cream please. When you were talking about your car."

"Oh yes," She exclaims, closing the fridge door and grasping 2 cartons; one of cream and one of milk. "Well, the car itself is a little flashy for me and gives the impression that I have something to prove; which is an impression I do not wish to give." She scoops some tealeaves from a carved, wooden box and into the teapot, after removing the cup from underneath. "But my brother... how should I put this? can become rather intoxicated when out with friends, and the Phantom has very roomy back seating and this proves useful when I have to pick him up from some club or pub, because he can just stretch out and sleep. How strong do you have your coffee and would you like any sugar?" She asks, spooning some coffee in the remaining mug and boiling the kettle. "No sugar, and not much cream thank you." She nods at him, showing her understanding. "So that's the main reason. Though I do enjoy driving and the front of the car itself is beautiful and relaxing, and it looks good when going to functions." She pours the boiling water into his mug, then adding the cream- the correct manner. 

"Though I have no idea why that's of any consequence amongst Psychoanalysts, possibly because they're all personality-deficients themselves." She says dryly, stirring his drink and handing it to him, before pouring out hers, adding sweeteners then milk. "You do not enjoy the company of your peers?" he asks, turning to look at her. "Forgive me, it's rude and unprofessional to say such things." She sighs, turning to lean her back against the marble worktop, "Back home, our line of work is cluttered with people who, once high enough to be regarded as a leading mind, believe life owes them the right to be rude and think they are better than those they treat. Becoming materialistic seams to run parallel to this, and I find this juvenile and petty."

"Maybe they prefer the finer things in life." He sips his coffee. "Oh no, don't get me wrong”, she says, “I understand those that like the finer things in this world, myself included. I just don't agree with one buying an item because it's what everyone else has got, or because it is the most expensive." She pauses to drink her tea, then continues. "I think that if one likes something, no matter its label, or price tag, they should have it, and not mind the opinion of those around them. That is all," she says concisely, before taking another sip of her tea. She truly is a strange creature to Hannibal; she hides nothing and is so open in her opinions and ideas. A quality he has not witnessed in a while. "Would you care to move to the next room? There is a fireplace, and it is rather chilly in here," she asks, standing from the counter and looking at Hannibal. "Yes, that would be delightful." He follows behind as she leaves the kitchen and enters another room. A room he recognises. "This painting, William Blake is it not?" (Name) kneels beside the fireplace and lights it, sending clouds of smoke up the chimney and shadows dancing across the floor. "Yes, it is," she affirms, standing and walking to his side. "I know it's a little dark, but it's one of my favourite works of art," she says, fingers tracing the lines of the picture. "'The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun' "

"Yes" she says impressed, turning round to him as he walks away. "So many people get mixed between 'in' and 'with', which is a shame as they are both quite different. Though this is a copy of the original, I still take pleasure in looking at it," she remarks, before turning and joining Hannibal on the large leather sofa. (Name) sits, slightly turned towards him, and brings her cup to her lips again, eyes on the painting. "So," she starts, "What was the real reason you came to see me tonight? I'd have asked earlier, but it's hardly appropriate dinner conversation." (Name) places her tea cup on the coffee table and joins her hands together, awaiting his answer. He's taken aback by her sudden outburst, but he composes himself and answers calmly. "I came to talk to you about the profile you gave today."

"I thought as much." She says, and takes another drink of her tea. "What would you like to talk about?" Her chatty, friendly demeanour had disappeared from her eyes, instead a cold and focused stare presides. So she did know more than she let on, clever girl. "No one else suggested looking to why he is a cannibal, why did you?" he asks honestly. "Cannibalism isn't a thing that happens every day," she starts her explanation, "So it might be useful to see why he is one in the first place. It is seen as unclean, unacceptable and against the norm, which is quite right; the most one comes to tasting human flesh is a nosebleed, or biting the inside of one’s cheek. In this way it's not 'normal' to devour the corpse of another. The majority of people will never get the opportunity to do so, because there aren't any; unless forced or in grave need, such as starvation." She finishes with a sip of her tea. He is astonished by her thought processes, and the way she analyses things. But her brain, however brilliant, can be damaging to him. "Why call him an artist?" He asks. "You saw the photos did you not? The way the victims are displayed, as if on a pedestal for all to see; ridiculing, embarrassing them. This is our Cannibal’s version of making them perform in front of an audience in the nude, it's poetically cruel" she says with, much to his confusion, a smile on her face. "Forgive me," he says, perplexed "But you seem to like our killer."

"I admire his work, yes." Honesty again, on such a subject? "People tend to have such an outdated idea of Cannibalism," she says, exasperated. "People think that it's a sinister thing and that they boil bodies or eat them raw. Such an old fashioned notion." This is a direction he never thought she'd take. Hannibal finds himself engaged in her speech and the things she says, delightfully perplexed. "This person, our Cannibal, is so precise and cuts everything so cleanly and correctly, this idea doesn't apply to him. He takes the parts that he wants, and cooks them; like we do with sheep or pig organs." She moves, inching closer to Hannibal on the sofa. "I reckon he uses a recipe book, and creates such delicacies with the meat he takes." Maybe she is too dangerous to live.

Or maybe not. 

"Or at least that's what I hope he does" she finishes. "Sorry?" Hannibal asks, not sure that he heard correctly. "People are killed every day right? Just left on the street or thrown in a river. If one is going to kill, then one might as well make some use of the body, instead of just leaving it to rot." Hannibal can see in her eyes that everything she says she believes, and it's really her opinion, but he still can't believe what he is hearing. "Humans are animals, our flesh and bone is just as edible as that of a cow or pig or sheep. We are at the top on the food chain, but we're still a part of it so are we not, by definition, food too?" He would suspect that this was a trick; a ruse to catch him off-guard and to confess who he is and what he's done. He would, were it not for the look in her eye; one of belief, truthfulness and fidelity. Letting him know that she is like him, without her being aware of it.

"Would you consider killing someone (Name)?" But how much is she like him? Is that sweet, bubbly personality of hers just a mask? "No," she answers his internal question, "Not unless I really had to." For some reason that he can't explain, he feels a small sense of relief at her words. "Why?" He asks, "Why wouldn't you consider it?" He's curious, but still finds himself hoping for a 'pure' answer. "I take no pleasure in inflicting pain or torment, also nothing makes me feel emotion enough to want to." She confesses, tucking her knees under her body and moving to face him more on the sofa. "It takes a great deal to make me angry or hurt, and I know it's because it takes a great deal for me to care about people." She pauses as she looks at him, the warm glow of the fire illuminating her face. "I like people, sure enough, and I have friends that I care for; but none enough that if they did anything to hurt me, emotionally or physically, I'd care enough to feel pained or do anything about it," she says nonchalantly. 

As a psychiatrist, Hannibal's job is to help people open up and be honest about their thoughts and feelings; wading through dark secrets and murky pasts to get there. This isn't the case with (Name); she's already so open and honest in her thoughts and opinions, that he merely has to ask, were he ever to want to know something about her. And, which is the best part, this is because she doesn't have anything to hide or be ashamed about; she is devoid of the evils he possesses. Thoughts run rampant through his head; as though he is Darwin, discovering an entirely new species for the first time. "Forgive me," she interrupts his revelry, "some of the things I have said are of an unsavoury nature. Getting into the minds of criminals for half your life, it's inevitable that they find their way into yours." Her gaze returns to the fire, a faraway look in her eye. His gaze joins hers on the burning logs before confessing, "I agree with you" as his eyes stay with the flickering light, (Name) turns her head to look at him. "Sorry?"

"I agree with your verdict about cannibalism in general, and about our Cannibal himself." He turns his head, meeting her eyes with his. "You are of a sound mind (Name); having a different opinion doesn't make it a wrong opinion." He places a hand on her shoulder again, reassuring her in her ideals. She is a good and honest person, who shares the same standards and philosophies as he does. As his hand comes in contact with the warmth of her shoulder and he looks into her eyes, a thought crosses his mind. Maybe he's reassuring himself of his own opinions; maybe this woman can show him that there is a light in his darkness. Maybe (Name) can teach the unseen monster how to be more human.

"Would you care for another coffee, Hannibal?" She asks through a warm smile, nodding at his mug but keeping eye contact. Hannibal is the first to break the stare as he shuffles backwards and looks at his watch. "No, no thank you. It's quite late and I have clients tomorrow. I think I should be off." With that he stands and (Name) follows suit. "Very well then, shall we collect your coat?" she asks cheerfully. "Yes, thank you." And they make their way back to the front door, where (Name) assists Hannibal in putting his jacket on and opening the door. "Thank you for coming over Hannibal, I really enjoyed talking with you" she says as he steps out, wrapping her arms around herself as a shield from the brisk night air. "The pleasure was all mine. The food was exquisite, as was the company. Now you get inside before you catch your death" He replies, with a smile. "No, I'm fine. I want to see you off" She says to him sweetly, her gesture bringing a smile to his face once more. "I shall have to repay the favour and invite you for dinner" he adds as he walks towards his car. “I would love that, thank you." 

As he reaches his car and opens the driver-side door, he waves his goodbye with a "Thank you again" before getting in and closing the door. He watches as she stays at her front door, continuously waving him goodbye as he turns and exits her driveway. 'She may prove to be a very valuable ally,' is amongst the many thoughts merited by the drive home, 'so I shan't kill her just yet.' Though the only one to bring a smile to his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment or message if you can; opinions of my stories and suggestions on content or how to improve are always welcome.


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